


Em's Hawkdevil Advent Calendar

by IsThatABillyClubInYourPocket



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsThatABillyClubInYourPocket/pseuds/IsThatABillyClubInYourPocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of (eventually) 25 fics all surrounding my two favorite losers. Mostly prompt-driven, but a few ideas of my own as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snowballs

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, yeah, it’s technically December 4th and I have some catching up to do on my advent thingy, but if you want to get technical, time is an illusion constructed by human beings to make sense of the world around us. So technically I’m not late at all. Lateness doesn’t exist.

Matt was completely infatuated by almost every holiday cliche, which was why he was out in the tiny little courtyard between his apartment building and another, wearing a (presumably tacky) Christmas sweater Clint had bought him, and building a snowman with his boyfriend.

He was just putting the final touch on his creation, when he noticed something small and round was hurtling through the air on a direct trajectory to the back of his head. Matt ducked immediately, and the snowball exploded as it collided with the snowman’s cheery face. Matt whipped around, grabbing a ball of snow and launching it at Clint in one smooth movement, grinning at the satisfying sound of the snowball making contact with Clint’s shoulder. He heard a stifled laugh.

“Oh, it’s  _on.”_ Clint tried to sound menacing, but the pure glee in his voice shone through. Matt ducked behind his snowman as his boyfriend opened fire, a barrage of snowballs flying through the air.

Scrambling to build up his own arsenal, Matt slid around in the loose snow, laughing at himself as he continued to dodge the bombardment of cold projectiles. His snowman, now promoted to snowbodyguard, was taking quite the beating. As one of Clint’s well-aimed snowballs knocked the carrot nose clean off, Matt unleashed his own stockpile. One hit Clint straight in the ass as he bent down to collect more snow, and Matt couldn’t help but snort at his yelp of surprise.

“Hey, that’s a foul!” he complained, brushing the powdery snow off the back of his jeans, not hesitating to launch the snowball in his hands straight at Matt’s smug face. Ninja or not, Matt was too busy gasping with laughter to attempt to block it, and felt the cold sting as it hit him square in the jaw. He let himself fall over, letting out an over exaggerated howl of pain.

Matt could only assume Clint’s hearing aids had muddled the sarcasm of his yell, as the next thing he knew his boyfriend was hovering over him with an air of nervous energy.

“Oh, shit, are you oka-” Clint was cut off as Matt mashed a fistful of snow into his face, and he gave an indignant shout before retaliating. Their fight had devolved into a snowy wrestling match, and Matt snickered as he rolled Clint over, pressing him into the snow. His boyfriend struggled for a moment, grasping for more snow to throw in Matt’s face, but his wriggling soon stopped and Matt felt soft gloves brushing the snowflakes out of his hair.

“This is a good look for you,” Clint whispered, and Matt could hear the smile in his voice.

“Mmm?” Matt hummed as if asking for Clint to continue, lowering himself slowly so that he could meet their lips in a kiss.

“Y’know, the whole look of… DEFEAT.” Clint tossed the powdery snow into Matt’s face, taking the moment to roll them over so that he was on top once again, pinning Matt down by his baggy sweater. Matt laughed at Clint’s grunt of accomplishment once he was securely pressed into the snow, but found he would much rather try again for that kiss than retaliate. Clint seemed suspicious as he leaned up to lock lips, but relaxed soon, rolling them both onto their sides to lay in the soft patch of snow they had cleared away with their wrestling. 

“I wasn’t lying,” Clint muttered as he pulled away from the kiss, pressing his cold nose to Matt’s rosy cheek.

“I know.” Matt smiled, planting a soft peck on Clint’s jaw.


	2. Flu Season

He could feel the shift in the air temperature as soon as he stepped into the apartment.

“Clint?” Matt tilted his head to the side, zeroing in on the body heat emanating from the couch. “You have a fever.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Clint’s stuffed up voice was muffled under the pile of blankets. Matt propped his cane up against the wall and closed the door behind him, crossing immediately to the couch.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I would have brought you something.”

“I thought it was just cold as fuck in here.” Clint emerged from the pile of blankets. “Why are you here anyways?”

Matt blinked, unprepared for the question. It had been almost three weeks since he had stopped by. Almost three weeks since Clint had pressed his apartment key into Matt’s hands, and suddenly all the confusing feelings in his chest had solidified into something very identifiable. How was he supposed to answer? He was here because when work was slow he would find himself longing to hear Clint’s laugh? He was here because he lay awake at night trying to remember the scent of Clint’s shampoo? He was here because when he finally slept, he dreamed about what it might feel like to run his hands through Clint’s hair and press their lips together?

“I missed Lucky,” he said.

Clint replied with a vague groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “Everything is sore.”

“It’s probably the flu.” Matt got up, heading for the bathroom. “Do you have any ibuprofen? It’ll help.”

“I dunno. Kate buys all the medicine for me.”

“How are you still alive?”

“Says the guy that’s gotten stabbed, like, a lot.”

“I’m sure you’ve been stabbed plenty of times too,” Matt called over his shoulder as he searched the medicine cabinet, tuning into the smell of each bottle.

There was a pause.

“Why don’t you get the ibuprofen for me when I get stabbed?” Clint asked as Matt returned with the right bottle.

“Because you try to be stoic and act like you don’t take painkillers when I’m around.” Matt sat on the end of the couch, unscrewing the lid.

“How do you know I take them when you aren’t around?”

“I can smell them in your breath.” He poured a couple of pills into Clint’s hand.

“That’s not fair.” Clint made a face as he tossed back his head, swallowing the pills.

“How come you won’t take painkillers for stab wounds in front of me, but you’ll take meds for a fever?”

“Maybe I just like to be babied when I’m sick.” Clint shifted on the couch, laying down so that his head was resting on Matt’s thigh. He rolled onto his side, squirming into the blankets. Before he could think twice, Matt let his hand reach down to Clint’s hair, stroking softly down the side of his face. He heard a barely perceptible sigh.

“Have you eaten anything?” Matt continued to let his fingers trail down Clint’s jaw. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“I’m not going to answer that, because you’d probably go make food, and I don’t want you to get up.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but didn’t move.

They sat in silence for a moment. Clint’s slow and steady heartbeat filled Matt’s ears. He could feel his own heart hammering as he gently stroked the side of Clint’s face.

“I missed you.” Clint finally broke the silence. “If you didn’t want the key, you could have just told me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Matt sighed. “Of course I did.”

“Then why have you been gone?” Clint was relentless.

Matt shrugged, thinking through his answer.

“I guess I was just scared.”

Clint shifted, sitting up and facing Matt.

“Scared of what?”

“Y’know.” Matt waved a hand dismissively. “Feelings.”

“Oh.” Clint seemed to deflate slightly. He paused, looking quizzically at Matt. “Wait, what?”

“Feelings.” He repeated, shifting so that he could take Clint’s face in his hands. “Scary, nervous, butterfly-in-your-stomach kind of feelings.”

“About what?” Matt couldn’t tell if Clint was genuinely so out of it he wasn’t following the conversation, or if he just wanted to hear the words out loud.

“About you, you dumbass.” Matt groaned, waiting for Clint to say something awkward and non-reciprocal.

“You’ve got some god-awful timing, Murdock.”

“What?” It was Matt’s turn to be confused by the conversation.

“You finally bring months worth of romantic and sexual tension to a tipping point, and I’m too fucking sick to give you the appropriately passionate makeout session that would resolve it.”

Matt laughed, partly out of relief, but mostly out of happiness. He pressed his lips to Clint’s warm forehead, giving him a soft kiss.

“I’ll definitely need to follow up on that idea later, but for now how about we settle in with a movie and snuggle under your blanket hoard.”

Clint huffed in mock annoyance. “fine.”


End file.
